


Cancer Takes the Cake

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cancer, I'm so sorry, Multi, Other, things that go with that, those are my tags, tw: cancer, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-10 05:10:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2012172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A friendly woman picks up a young boy on a clear, humid summer night. . .Being only nineteen at the time, a child is a big responsibility! She hopes to any power she could ever wish to that he will never face any difficulties, but fate has decided that that just won't be so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unexpected Letter

**Author's Note:**

> Okay...First chapter! To be honest I don't know what I'm doing, I suppose I'm just venting about the First Ship and the Signless and Dolorosa and,,,,, ancestors overall. If you read this story at all, thanks soooo much for that at all. Love you all!!!

It had been three years since Rosa had picked up the young boy who she'd grown to care for so much. It seemed like just maybe a few months. Silas was now fourteen and shooting up like a weed. . .Or, he had been. It had been a week since a doctor's appointment, one that had been different than the others. Silas was adventurous, honest...and, in a "cat" scan, he lit up like a Christmas tree. Soon, he had been diagnosed with a myxoma tumor in the right atrium of his heart. He'd spent a week in the hospital, while they argued with Rosa about the possibility of chemo or radiation therapy. But in the meantime, she had to watch her perfect son. . .suffer. But really, if she looked at him, he wasn't even suffering. He was just like the extremely mature, wordy, polite, fourteen-year-old boy that she'd known for what seemed like forever. He'd watch TV, talk back and forth with his best friend Simmon a lot, do lots of normal boy things. Simmon visited three times a week, and he always had something clever to say. He was thin and vaguely geeky and also four years older than Silas, but the most striking feature about Simmon was his eyes, one an ocean blue with a depth to swallow a myxoma tumor whole the other a strange red, that resembled a fire. Rosa also thought that it suited his personality well. They got along, though, even with the age gap. Rosa appreciated that greatly.

Silas hated the hospital. Well, at least he strongly disliked it. He strongly disliked saying that he hated things, so it was habit to try and avoid that word whenever it was possible; Silas was excepting of everything and everyone and he was damn. . .darn sure that he was going to show it as well as he could. Especially now that he had nothing better to do except engage in sarcasm battles with Simmon and chit-chat with doctors. To no one's surprise, none of the doctors were interesting to talk to. . .at all. Which was vaguely disappointing to Silas. If he was going out, he didn't want to go out surrounded by unfriendly, judging doctors.

He was just starting to get deathly bored when the white door, not colored unlike the rest of the room, opened and the youthful face of a friendly-enough looking nurse popped her head into the room. She made sure to give him a nice, wide, white-toothed smile before speaking in the most annoyingly cheery voice he'd ever heard. "Silas Vantas?" she asked. Holy _shit_ , woman. Silas Vantas' name was practically everywhere. On the door, on his hospital gown, on his name tag on his hospital bed-side table, _everywhere_. He didn't get mad, though, he only nodded a few times. 

"Yes, ma'am, that's me," Silas assured her, tilting his head to the side slightly and smiling his most well-mannered smile. "What is it that you need?"

"Er, nothing really, uh, sir," she stammered, obviously surprised by his politeness. Jesus, was it really that hard to believe that a young boy such as himself would be at least nice to people? "It's just, a letter arrived for you today!" Her grin was back, and she held up a envelope. "I'm going to leave it on your nightstand." She inched the door open cautiously like Silas would bite her or something if she wasn't agonizingly slow, setting the letter on the table beside his hospital bed before waving and leaving the room immediately.

Well, that was strange. Silas wondered what the letter would be. Could it be an apology note from Simmon? Simmon had been dealing with some pretty stressful tests, and hadn't been able to visit. Silas, of course, was perfectly fine with that. Between his mother staying around until Silas excused her from the room against her will, and the doctors, and Simmon, he barely ever got any alone time to think. But now he had tons of excess time on his hands. Whatever. Now his mind was getting off-track thinking of unimportant things. He had a letter from Simmon to open!

So, he picked up the envelope, neatly tearing the top centimeter off, perfect as he did many things. He pulled the letter out, to reveal some perfect white paper, which. . .Already didn't line up with Simmon. Ha, he must have cleaned up his South-Paw handwriting for the tests, it must be exhausting for him to worry about not smudging the paper. He opened the letter, and, what the hell? Scribbled across the paper was a neat hybrid of cursive and print, and if it was possible to fall in love with handwriting, he did. He read a long and well-composed note from and about a girl who introduced herself as Diana. 

Apparently, this Diana-girl was interested in finding a pen-pal, "beclaws" she had tons to talk about and even more "cat" she wanted to learn. Throughout the letter, she made what Silas had gathered were cat puns. She had a very personality-oriented way of writing, and she said that she had three cats, each of which she'd included a picture of. She also included a picture of her and her family. She wrote about her lifestyle. Her father owned a small bookstore, and her mother died when she was "a real young one". She lived in Oregon, she was fifteen, and her full name was Diana Leijon De Leon, and all Silas could think of was how similar Leon and Leijon were pronounced, the way he pronounced them in his head. She'd inherited her father's last name, but her father had kept her mother's maiden name as Diana's middle name. She seemed rather friendly, and she even sent some paper and a pencil for him, in case he didn't have access to that kind of thing; which he did, but he used her paper anyway. 

He wrote back like so:

_Dear, Diana Leijon Le Leon-  
This is Silas Vantas Maryam, writing from the hospital. I've received your letter, and I'd like to thank you for the paper and pencil, that allowed me to be lazy and saved me the inevitable ask for such utensils. Also, I wanted to say that I hadn't realized that the hospital that I'm currently living in had a pen-pal program. Either way, I'd like to write back and return some of the things that you've so generously told to me. So, here goes, I suppose._

_My name, as previously mentioned, is Silas Vantas Maryam, and I've never met my parents. I don't remember any kind of parental figure until I was dropped into an orphanage at maybe just a little more than ten days old. I lived there until I was four, and I decided that I couldn't take it anymore. It's almost been eleven years since then. No one discovered me until two years after I had initially run, and the woman who found me was the one I consider to be my mother, Rosa Maryam. I'm sorry, I don't know her middle name to tell you._

_Rosa is a seamstress, and I've grown up in her shop, made a small game of fetching things for her. She's the kindest woman I've ever met, and I know that she loves me a ton._

_We live in Washington State, it looks that you're our state-neighbor, since I believe you said that you lived in Oregon. Doesn't it rain a lot, there?_

_Anyway, I'm fourteen, but I turn fifteen in two weeks. I'm not really that interesting. I like to speak for people, I mean in speeches and such. I haven't gotten much chance to do it, obviously, but it's always been a bit of a passion of mine. I don't have any pets, but for the record, your cats are adorable and now I almost want one. I was diagnosed with cancer a week ago, and it's something like a heart tumor, no matter how hard I try I can never remember the specific name, but, yes. If you have any questions, feel free to ask away._

_From,  
Silas._

And so the letters began.


	2. An Interesting Visit in Oregon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really don't know what I'm doing, this is entirely self-indulgent, blah blah blah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm updating on Thursdays, now, so yeah. Stay tuned, please! :)

Diana had only introduced herself maybe a few days ago by this day, but she sadly enough had plenty of things to do other than write to young men with cancer. She'd received the letter a bit ago, but still haven't had a chance to respond. She worked at least twelve hours daily for no pay at all, occasionally she'd have a free weekend. This was due to the fact that Diana's father worked a book store, and it'd always just been her and her father, so there was no one else to help run the place. They ran the book shop like a farmer would his farm, based off of family labor, which just consisted of Diana and her father. Oh well. She didn't mind it all-too-much.

She'd just finished stacking a pile of books when a knock at the door stirred her from her concentration. She sighed and went to answer it, and who would she open the door to, but Simmon? But, of course, she wouldn't know that. "You know this is a bookstore, right?" she asked. "We run from six in the morning to nine in the night, okay? So you can walk in at any time before then, got it? So. Come in." She opened the door enough to let him in and the wiry teen stepped inside. 

"Hey, I'm Simmon," Simmon greeted casually. "You're Diana, right? I'm here from Washington. Uh, a hospital, in Washington, actually. You've been sending letters there, correct?"

"Er, well, yeah. I sent one. What are you, letter police?" The girl sounded mildly defensive as she dismissed the conversation, continuing to stack books.

Simmon persisted. "So, uh, yeah. Since you lived pretty close by, I figured I should pay you a visit and inform you on your pen pal, who just so happens to be my best friend."

"Huh....Oh, well, alright. Inform me." Diana shrugged and organized more books before turning to the newcomer. "What is it? No bad news, I trust?"

"Oh, well, no! Of course not. He's actually improving in condition, and he gets a little more active every day. The doctors say that if he continues on like this, he might be able to be dismissed with daily check-ins and physical therapy. The only thing is, I kind of have a bad feeling. Have you ever had one of those? I just...I feel that something bad's going to happen to him, and it's worrying me and I have no one else to talk to and youseemkindofnice, sohereIam." Simmmon practically blurted out the last sentence, talking faster and faster like he was a car on a racetrack and if he didn't get that sentence out in time something bad would happen. Oh well, she was probably thinking about it too much.

"Uhuh..." the girl responded, nodding her head once, twice, slowly and surely. "That's...You sure are an interesting 'un, aren't'cha?"

**Author's Note:**

> This has taken up so much research, and I'm still not sure if I've got everything right. Please let me know. Also it's really late, so...PLEASE let me know if I completely murder this writing. I appreciate any kind of feedback, I really do!


End file.
